Falling for Jillian Ashley: A Carlsbad Village Lesbian Romance Page 7

  “Hey, Amy!”

  Amy looked up to see Chloë, the coffeeshop’s manager standing next to her table. She was wearing a cute polka dot face mask and the dots were the same color as her pixie-cut platinum blonde hair.

  “Hey, Chloë!” Amy said, at first relieved to be distracted from her thoughts. She liked Chloë a lot. In fact, she was hoping that Chloë and her girlfriend would one day be guests on her podcast because their relationship—which not only involved an age gap but also a first-time lesbian—would be perfect for her series of episodes on real-life lesfic tropes.

  But then, Amy’s mind couldn’t help but wonder if Vanessa had instructed Chloë to come ask Amy why she was sitting here without any coffee.

  “Um…I hope you don’t mind,” Amy began, “but I haven’t ordered anything yet because I’m waiting for someone.”

  Chloë waved it off.

  “Dude, you’re fine,” she said, making Amy feel a lot better. “By the way, I always tell Vanessa that we should put a sign on this table which says ‘Reserved for Amy’ because you, like, always sit here!”

  Amy laughed. In her nervousness, she hadn’t realized that this was, in fact, the table she usually snagged when she came to La Vida Mocha.

  “Oh my god, that would be so awesome!” she said to Chloë. “It would make me feel like a celebrity! Oh, Vanessa told me you guys are opening another shop!”

  Chloë beamed.

  “We are! In fact, I’m going to be part-owner of it.”

  “No way! Congratulations!”

  Amy stood up to hug her friend, genuinely happy for her.

  They remained standing for a few minutes, chatting, Chloë telling Amy about the new coffeeshop, which was not going to be in Carlsbad but in Encinitas. Eventually, though, Chloë had to go tend to something behind the counter and Amy sat back down.

  Checking her smartwatch, her heart plummeted.

  During her pleasant chat with Chloë, Amy had lost sense of the passage of time and she now discovered that it was five minutes past four o’clock! And Jillian wasn’t here yet!

  Fuck!

  She told herself to calm down. Her date was late, no big deal. Happens all the time. Right now, she reasoned, there were countless women around the world whose dates were late. It didn’t mean anything and it certainly didn’t mean that she had been stood up.

  Her phone! Her phone was still in her bag and maybe she had missed a notification!

  Rescuing the device from the depths of the purse, Amy’s face fell when the phone’s screen merely showed her the time, nothing else. Still not a big deal, she reassured herself, wishing that such thoughts could magically calm her nerves. But with each passing second, she grew more fearful, certain that she’d been stood up. Worse still, she had told Chloë that she was waiting for someone, which meant that Chloë could be, right this very second, stealing glances over at her, feeling sorry for her for being stood up!

  But wait…Amy hadn’t told Chloë that she was meeting a date here, just someone. She also hadn’t told Chloë what time she was supposed to be meeting this person.

  Amy rolled her eyes.

  Of course Chloë would know she was waiting for a date! It was Friday evening. And of course Chloë would think she had been stood up! People don’t say, “Hey, let’s meet up at 4:07!” or “Great! See you there at 4:12!” Any idiot would know that Amy’s date was supposed to show up at the top of the hour and not…Amy checked her watch again…

  Fuck! 4:09!

  She sighed.

  So, now, she was the freak sitting in a coffeeshop without any coffee and no date! Fabulous!

  Podcast idea: Lesbian dating protocols. How late is too late?

  Oh well. She started consoling herself with the fact that she had at least gotten to interview Jillian on her podcast, which was something of a major coup in the lesfic world. And just because Jillian hadn’t showed up for their date, that wasn’t something to hold against her. Jillian was literally one of the top three lesfic authors in the world, even after only four books so far! Perfectly understandable, then, why she would find it a less than stimulating use of her time to meet a local blogger/podcaster for coffee on a primo date night.

  Just then, though, the bell over the door to La Vida Mocha tinkled as the door was opened and a woman rushed in.

  Amy gasped.

  Jillian.

  And suddenly, Amy felt a lot of the blood in her body flowing south and settling between her legs.

  Jillian on video was gorgeous.

  Jillian in real life was spectacularly gorgeous.

  The first thing Amy noticed was how tall she was! Like, model tall. With legs that seemed interminable, making Amy subconsciously lick her lips. Her lean figure was dressed remarkably like her own: skinny jeans and a tee, though Jillian’s tee was tan and sleeveless, showing off toned arms that weren’t too toned.

  Amy had to swallow when Jillian finally located her and those green eyes locked with hers.

  “I am soooooo sorry!” Jillian said when she reached the table. Amy stood and was delighted beyond description when Jillian embraced her. Being several inches shorter than Jillian, Amy found her face nestled against where Jillian’s long neck met her shoulders and Amy surreptitiously inhaled Jillian’s fragrances of cherry blossoms, citrus and, most enigmatic of all, patchouli.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Amy said with her best smile when they separated.

  I’d have waited until midnight for you.

  “I promise I am not usually late,” Jillian insisted. “Well, I used to be but my friend Max got me out of the habit. Anyway, today I just got…careless with the time!” Her face lost some color and she hurriedly added, “Not that I didn’t think meeting you was anything to care about! I totally cared, I promise! In fact, caring is what made me late! Please don’t think I’m a geek but I just couldn’t figure out what to wear!”

  “Oh my god, me too!” Amy told her. “Like, a dress seemed too dressy…”

  “Right! And even high heels seemed like too much.”

  Amy beamed. It made her feel a thousand percent better knowing that Jillian had gone through the same mental gymnastics trying to come up with an outfit for their date. It also helped that she seemed just as nervous about this date as Amy was. And Jillian’s rambling was adorable!

  And good lord! The thought of Jillian in high heels! The woman would be about seven feet tall! And now even more blood was flowing south at that image!

  Only a few minutes into their date and Amy was already wet.

  “Well, you look great,” Amy said.

  “You too. I think we both pulled off just the right amount of stylish-but-casual.”

  “Shall we get some coffee?” Amy asked.

  “Oh, thank god, yes! I could use some. But let me treat you! I feel so horrible that I was this late.”

  But Amy shook her head.

  “Nope,” she replied. “I invited you and so it’s on me.” After a half-second’s consideration, she decided to be bold and loop her arm around Jillian’s, the contact sending a little electric thrill down her spine and straight to her clit. Not only that, but the contact felt…perfect. It felt like she had found a missing piece of herself.

  She took a deep breath.

  Too early. Too early. Too early!

  Amy led her date to the ordering counter.

  It was the new(ish) La Vida Mocha girl, Amber, who took their order. When Jillian asked for a white chocolate mocha, Amy decided to copy her, remembering reading somewhere that a surefire way to signal attraction to somebody was to subtly mimic their moves. While they waited, Jillian surveyed the surroundings.

  “This is a cool spot,” she eventually declared. “I knew this place was here but I’ve never come inside. I’m more of a Starbucks girl.”

  Amy crossed her arms and gave Jillian a faux stern expression.

  “Okay, I am going to try my hardest not to hold that against you, but just so you know, it will be very difficult.”


  Jillian laughed.

  “Oh, I know! I’m a slave to the chain places and I need to break free. Do you realize that my idea of going out for Mexican is a visit to Taco Bell?”

  Amy couldn’t help the look of surprise which came over her face. Taco Bell? Starbucks? Carlsbad wasn’t a backwater town in the hills of Arkansas where options were limited. This was Southern California! There were all sorts of wonderful independent and local dining and caffeine-dispensing options everywhere!

  “I see I have a lot of work to do with you,” she said, arching an eyebrow.

  “Is that right?” Jillian asked. “And how do you propose to start?”

  Amy was certain the timbre of Jillian’s voice had an undertone of flirtation and she bit her bottom lip, gratified when she noticed Jillian’s eyes zero in on her mouth.

  Unfortunately, it was at that moment when Amber, completely oblivious to the sexual tension which Amy would have thought was obvious to even a blind person, butted in.

  “Here are your drinks, ladies,” Amber said, placing the two coffees on the pick-up counter, her brown eyes crinkling with the smile that was hidden by her face mask.

  Gee, thanks, Amber!

  Back at their table, Amy said, “So, Jillian, tell me about yourself; I mean stuff we didn’t go over during our interview the other day.”

  “Well,” Jillian began, after a sip of her coffee, “I suppose the most earth-shattering thing I can tell you right now is that my name is Sally, not Jillian.”

  Amy smiled.

  “Oh my god, that is such a cool name! It’s, like, classic.”

  Amy regarded her companion anew, getting used to viewing her as a Sally, not a Jillian. She determined that the name suited her, even more so than Jillian did.

  “Bet you can’t guess who I’m named after,” Sally prompted. “And, no, it’s not a family member.”

  Amy considered the question.

  “Sally Ride?” she ventured, naming America’s first woman in space.

  “Nope.”

  Oh god…what is the name of that old actress my mother likes…?

  “Sally Field?” she asked when it suddenly came to her.

  “Nope.”

  Amy twisted her features into an expression of being stumped.

  “Oh gosh. Are there any other famous Sallys?”

  Her date feigned surprise.

  “I’m sure there are but you’re forgetting the one mega-famous Sally!” she said.

  Amy laughed.

  “Who?”

  “Charlie Brown’s sister!”

  “Oh my god, I totally forgot about her! That’s hilarious!”

  “I hope you made note of it,” Sally said, “I will be quizzing you later.”

  Amy felt her pulse quicken.

  “And if I fail the quiz?”

  “You’ll have to take the make-up exam, won’t you?” Sally told her.

  “I see. Well, I’m sure I don’t want to do that.”

  Sally quirked an eyebrow and sucked her bottom lip between her teeth.

  “Don’t be so sure of that,” she said.

  Amy felt another delicious chill tickle her spine and which made all her nerve endings feel alive. She brought her coffee cup up to her mouth for a sip, more as an attempt to cover the blush she felt creeping up her neck to her cheeks than because she wanted a drink.

  “So, how did you come up with Jillian Ashley as a pen name?” she asked.

  A change came over Sally’s features then, which Amy had trouble interpreting.

  “Do you mind if we not talk about Jillian Ashley and writing and the books and all that?” Sally inquired. “I’d rather our time together be about getting to know one another instead.” And then she gave Amy a smile that actually made Amy cross her legs under the table.

  “I love that idea,” she replied. What she didn’t add was that she was currently rethinking her no-sex-on-a-first-date policy. It was a hard and fast rule for her. There were exceptions, of course—Amy had had her share of hook-ups and one-night-stands. But for proper first dates, the kind that were meant to be the start of a relationship, Amy made sure things never progressed to the bedroom.

  Now, however, she was wondering if Sally also had a no-sex-on-a-first-date rule, and what she would need to do to get Sally to break it.

  Chapter 12

  Max was going to kill her.

  And Sally had known that Max was going to kill her about fifteen seconds after she walked into this coffeeshop and saw Amy. In that instant, when her eyes had landed on Amy IRL, two things had happened…

  The first was that Sally’s heart had thumped hard enough that she felt a rush of warm blood course through her limbs.

  The second was that her first thought was, I finally found Her.

  Sally had been hoping to feel what she was feeling now on her date with Amy seemingly her entire adult life. She’d had plenty of girlfriends, of course; a couple of them had even been serious enough to make her wonder if marriage was in the cards. In the end, though, those relationships had fizzled out for one reason or another and when Sally was between girlfriends and thus had time to consider things, she had come to realize that those relationships had fizzled simply because there wasn’t anything magical about them.

  Because Sally really did believe there was a soulmate out there for her. The one woman who would make her feel the way Hollywood wanted people to believe they should feel in all those silly rom-coms and period romance dramas. This was a thought she had always kept to herself, though, knowing how pie-in-the-sky it all sounded.

  But now she was sitting across from Amy in this cool coffeeshop she’d never been to before and everything about their date was firing on all cylinders.

  It wasn’t just that Amy was pretty, with chocolate-brown eyes which matched her chocolate-brown hair, lithe figure with small breasts and the most adorable dimples when she smiled. It was something else. Something between them which, like air, was invisible and also like air could only be felt when it was moving. And this something was moving, Sally determined. It was a current flowing between the two of them and it was something Sally had been waiting for all her life.

  And Amy was proving to be a very impressive person. Sally almost wished her mother could be sitting here with them and learning that Amy was far more than just a blogger. So far, because Sally had asked Amy to tell her about herself, Sally had discovered all of the important work Amy was doing for a women’s rights organization based here in Carlsbad. The woman truly was in the trenches, helping others and fighting the good fight, trying on a daily basis to improve the lot of women in this region of California and undo a lot of the misogynistic poison of the Trump years. And Sally couldn’t get enough of it. The stories Amy told, running the gamut from frustratingly sad to laugh out loud funny, put Amy’s passion for her work on full display.

  It was, quite frankly, sexy as hell.

  “I’m having a really good time!” Amy said, with a smile, bringing those dimples to life, after relating to Sally the details of her upcoming meeting with a county supervisor about a women’s rights bill.

  “I am too!” Sally replied. “And I usually hate first dates.”

  “Same here. It always feels like—”

  “An audition?” Sally offered.

  “Exactly!” Amy enthused.

  “I totally know what you’re talking about! And then you’re always wondering—”

  “If the person you’re with is truly being themselves?” Amy suggested.

  Sally nodded.

  “Exactly what I was going to say!”

  They sat there staring at each other for a few silent moments that were not at all awkward.

  “Get a load of us…” Sally started.

  “…finishing each other’s sentences.” Amy concluded.

  Sally’s nipples hardened.

  Eventually, she held up her coffee cup.

  “Empty,” she said. “Are you hungry? How about we finish each other’s sentences over som
e food?”

  “Love it!” Amy said. “Italian? I know a great place within walking distance.”

  “Please let it be Cicciotti’s! I love that place!”

  Amy leaned forward, holding Sally’s eyes with her own.

  “What a coincidence,” she purred and even though Sally would have thought it impossible, her nipples got even harder.

  ***

  Ten minutes later, they were at Cicciotti’s, seated at one of the trattoria’s sidewalk tables. The weather, as usual, was gorgeous; the daylight a lovely blue-orange as the sun began heading towards the horizon. There was an enormous tree just outside the establishment and the chorus of birds provided a pleasant accompaniment to the rustic Italian music playing softly on the trattoria’s sound system.

  Their waitress had just left them, having taken their order, promising to return soon with the bottle of pinot noir they had requested to enjoy with their meal.

  Upon the waitress leaving, Amy had asked Sally what she did for a living, considering that they had spent all their time at La Vida Mocha discussing Amy’s profession.

  “Oh god, now I’m self-conscious!” Sally said.

  “Why self-conscious?” Amy inquired, laughing.

  Sally rolled her eyes.

  “Because compared to what you do, my job is so unimportant!”

  Amy laughed even more.

  “Don’t say that! I’m sure it’s very important.”

  Sighing, because she knew she couldn’t avoid this topic of conversation, Sally set about telling Amy about her job as a graphic designer, a job she really did love but which hardly had the world-changing potential of what Amy did. Still though, she explained how growing up she had been fascinated by things like signs and logos and how certain designs—even though they were incredibly simple—were so iconic and ubiquitous that even taken out of context, they were instantly recognizable.

  “Take the Nike swoosh, for example,” she said. “You don’t have to see it on a pair of sneakers to know, instantly, that that symbol means Nike, right? And I love that! That symbol just looks like a fancy check mark—a child could have drawn it—but even so, when you see that simple swoosh, even if it’s drawn on a napkin, you instantly know it’s Nike.”